


The Past, In Darkness Lies

by mirajanihiggins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Smut, John & Sherlock sex, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Protective John Watson, Protective Mycroft, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock being clever, Torture, reference S3, snark and sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: This story references the beginning of The Empty Hearse, when Sherlock is tortured and rescued. All actions have repercussions, even if they are unseen at the time. At long last, the Torturer returns with a vengeance, and he's got John and Sherlock locked away in a basement. Can the two of them escape before he decides they are no longer of use to him?





	1. Chapter 1

“John, can you hear me? John! JOHN!” The normally cultured voice was frantic.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Fuck, my _head_...where the hell _are_ we, Sherlock?”

 

“I don’t know. Can’t see anything. Absolutely black in here. Can’t hear anything outside. You?”

 

“Nope, nothing. Just you, me, and the smell of something that died recently. _Not_ a good omen.” There was a rattling of chains. “Yeah, there are chains, too. Both wrists, over my head. You?”

 

“Same.” A test rattle. “Quite secure, too. Not old, fairly new purchase—no rust or creaks to indicate age and wear. This is a recent setup.”

 

“For _us_ , you think?”

 

“Possibly. As you said, there _is_ a smell of death in the air. Over in the corner, I think. _That_ will get worse before it gets better,” Sherlock observed, dourly.

 

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that. Fortunately I have a good stomach, or I wouldn’t have been able to endure medical school _or_ Afghanistan.”

 

“Or our refrigerator,” Sherlock joked, trying to distract John from their current situation.

 

“Yeah, well, some of your experiments _did_ almost achieve intelligence in there...” John chuckled to himself. “I’d exchange _that_ for knowing what we’re involved in _now_. You’ve tried calling out?”

 

“Uh _huh_ ,” Sherlock affirmed, his mind already turning over possibilities. He extended his senses as far as they would go, taking in every sound, scent, waft of air...all of it, in an attempt to figure out his current situation. The information provided was disappointingly meager.

 

A sigh. “Sherlock, is there _anything_ you want to tell me now, _before_ it hits the fan?” John’s tone was long-suffering and justifiably suspicious.

 

Sherlock shook his head. “No, John. Upon my life, this is _not_ of my doing. I promised you, when we finally...got together, I _promised_ you I would _not_ withhold information from you ever again, even to protect you. I have _kept_ that promise.” He gusted a sigh through his nose. “No, I am as much in the dark as you are, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

 

A momentary chuckle. “Always a ray of sunshine, you are.”

 

Sherlock smiled and hiccuped a laugh. “ _Really_ , John...”

 

A door somewhere slammed open, letting in the tiniest amount of air and light possible. A heavy tread came around a corner. Sherlock strained to see…

 

It was a large figure, brutish in form, with a bald pate and heavily muscled shoulders. Something about the way it moved seemed uncomfortably familiar. It stopped between them, a darkness deeper than their cell, and looked at each of them in turn. Then he laughed.

 

“So, you are both awake, eh?” he said in Serbian. Sherlock’s sphincters all snapped shut simultaneously at the sound of that voice. A long time ago, but still _far_ too familiar. “I have been so very, very patient.”

 

“Have you now, Sergei?” Sherlock quipped, his guard up immediately. “I would say it is a pleasure to see you, but I _do_ hate to lie.” He smiled humorlessly. _Unless it’s to a feeble-minded dolt like you._

 

“Still the tough man, eh, Dmitri? Or should I call you _Sherlock Holmes_ now? It seems more fitting somehow, since we are here, on your native soil.”

 

“Well, thank you for letting me know _that_ , at least. I was beginning to wonder.” Sherlock said, verbally poking at him with a sharp stick. “You know, the last time we met, I got more information out of _you_ than _you_ did out of _me_.” He smirked and leaned back against the dry, musty stone wall to observe his jailer’s reaction.

 

Sergei made a disgusted sound as he slowly straightened up, his shoulders cracking audibly. Then, in one fluid movement, he spun and punched John in the gut. Sherlock couldn’t see anything, but the ragged, paroxysmal gasps, combined with some retching, told him all he needed to know. The huge figure turned back toward Sherlock.

 

“It’s not just you and me this time, Sherlock. Now there is a _third_ player in our little game. I learned last time, to my distress, that you were able to play me and escape, possibly with help? I don’t know, but my employers made me _pay_ for it. They had me beaten, then threw me to the wolves. My wife left me, took my children, because no one would hire me again. I became a desperate man, on the run from others of the network. I _swore_ I would get revenge, that I would get back into the network’s good graces again.” He took a step closer, his breath foul in Sherlock’s face. “I loved my job, you know? I am _not_ a very nice man...”

 

“So I recall,” Sherlock replied, holding his ground. Shrinking from this man would only encourage him.

 

“Sherlock, what the hell?” John gasped from the opposite wall. “What was _that_ for? Do you _know_ this man?”

 

Sherlock sighed. “Unfortunately, yes, John, I do. This is Sergei, the man who bestowed upon me so many badges of honor during my imprisonment in Serbia.”

 

“Your _torturer_?” John almost shrieked. “ _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Sherlock, I thought you said...”

 

Sergei turned back to John and delivered a vicious backhand to the face. Sherlock could hear his head crack against the wall as the blow connected. He set his jaw to keep from screaming out John’s name.

 

_Steady, steady, don’t react, don’t show fear, don’t let on…_

 

“Maybe now, Mr. Great Detective, you will take my questions more seriously. I know how _you_ react under pressure. How about your _friend,_ eh? Maybe _he_ will give me what I want.”

 

“ _Friend,” he said. So, he doesn’t know about our_ _ **true**_ _relationship, which means he may not be quite so..._ _ **personal**_ _in his attacks. And, if I can divert him toward_ _ **me**_ _instead of John…_

 

“Doubtful,” Sherlock replied, with all the haughtiness he could muster. “My partner is nothing, merely an excitable grunt on the front lines of the war on crime. His fighting skills make him useful, and he makes for prime bait material on the right occasion, but other than that...” He shrugged, causing his chains to rattle. “All brawn, no brain.”

 

“Ah,” Sergei grunted. Sherlock strained to see his facial expression in the pitch blackness. He suspected that his jailer was more than just a _bit_ skeptical. “So it would be of no great importance to you if I were to simply kill him and dispose of the body, eh?”

 

_Oh, shit. Check_ _**and** _ _mate. He’s upping the ante, calling my bluff. Think, Sherlock, think! Ah!_

 

“Do as you will,” Sherlock shrugged again, his ears straining for any sound indicative of John’s current status. There was none. “All you will do is inconvenience me, as I’ll have to find another partner as dim as this one. Intelligence needs an audience, you know, and John was always _so good_ at being impressed by the most meager observations. Good for the ego. You understand, eh?”

 

_God,_ _**buy** _ _this one, Sergei, you dim-witted, backwater arsehole…_

 

Sergei laughed. “Yes, I could see how you would need a fool to run your errands and give you admiration, Dmitri...oh, excuse me, _Sherlock_. Such a silly name, only the English could come up with such a limp, bourgeois name!”

 

Sherlock smiled derisively. Fortunately, Sergei was a victim of the darkness as much as _they_ were. He was using it to frighten them, making fear the unknown work in his favor. Poor John; so much in the dark...

 

“Sherlock...”

 

“Not now, John,” Sherlock rapped back, command in every syllable. “I will explain all later.”

 

The shadow that was Sergei moved toward Sherlock and a hand with a vise-like grip latched on to Sherlock’s lower jaw, lifting him onto his toes. “No talking!” he ordered, his breath worse than that of the decaying corpse in the corner. _Bad dental work, more than a few abscesses._ _Must be painful._ “You will only talk to him to ask him questions, and if I don’t like the answers, I will take it out on one of you. _My_ choice.” He released his hand and Sherlock dropped back down to his heels.

 

_Not good, not good. Have to keep John out of his sights. Deliver information without giving him anything new or useful. Damn. Need to know what he wants._

 

“So, Sergei, you said you want to get back into the network again. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

 

“The information you obtained from us before you were captured...”

 

Eye roll. “That boat has already sailed, Sergei. I transmitted _that_ long before you even knew where I was.”

 

A finger flick to the face. “Ah, ah, AH, Sherlock, you talk nice to me or your partner pays the price for your insolence.”

 

Sherlock nodded, even though Sergei couldn’t see much better than _he_ could. “Agreed. So, what is it that you want?”

 

“I want the man you sent it to. I want the head of your organization. I want **M**.”

 

_M. I know who Sergei wants. He wants Mycroft. Oh, hell,_ _**everybody** _ _wants Mycroft. He’s the flavor de jour._

 

“And how do you think _I_ can help you?” Sherlock asked, as innocently as he was able.

 

“I have heard that you have connections to him. That you _know_ him, as a man knows a brother.”

 

Sherlock froze, prevent ing himself from reacting to Sergei’s analogy.  _A brother. Does Sergei know?_ He snorted. “A brother? Not like  _my_ brother. He’s an utter twat.”

 

Sergei roared in laughter. “That...that was a good one, Sherlock! No, I mean that you are close, that he sends you on sensitive missions. I _want_ him. I want his information. With _that_ , I could be a rich man and get back everything I lost! And you will help me do it!” He patted Sherlock on the face twice before slapping him, hard. Sherlock’s left ear was ringing like churchbells as Sergei left.

 

As soon as the door thudded shut, John hissed, “What the hell was  _that_ all about?”

 

Sherlock waited with bated breath until he was certain they were alone. “That _charming_ man is Sergei Ivanesco, head torturer of Moriarty’s Serbian branch. He and I became quite chummy a while back. I was only able to escape by palming the key during one of his torture sessions and telling him that his wife was cheating on him back home, which she _was_.”

 

“Mycroft told me _he_ sprang you,” John stated.

 

“Yes, he would. He showed up after I sent Sergei scurrying off to confront his wife. He actually sat there and watched me being tortured, can you _believe_ that? I would have escaped _without_ him. As it was, he _did_ get me back to England much faster than I could have managed on my own, just in time to find my best friend about to propose to one of Moriarty’s assassins.”

 

Sherlock heard John clearing his throat uncomfortably, then spitting out something. “Sorry, split lip. Yeah, well, all that aside, why is he here  _n_ _ow_ ? What does he want with  _you_ ?”

 

One eyebrow rose. “Can’t you guess, John?”

 

“What, revenge? Seems kind of paltry for all this work. He could have just shot you from a distance and gotten away with it. A knife in the back in some poorly-frequented alley. No...” a thoughtful silence, then, “he wants something, something only _you_ can help him get. Information? No, too long ago. Anything you knew is long out of date. What else…?”

 

“Try ‘who’.”

 

“Who…? Yeah, yeah, he wants your handler, your contact person, your...”

 

“My brother.”

 

Silence.

 

“Shit, Sherlock.”

 

“I know.”

 

More silence.

 

“I mean, I know you two don’t get along, but...”

 

“Mmm hm.”

 

Stunned silence.

 

“SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU’RE NOT THINKING OF...”

 

A snort. “Of _course_ not. Don’t be an idiot, John. Mycroft may be a twat, but he’s _family_. I don’t sell out family. Now, in _your_ case...”

 

“Try it, you bloody arse.”

 

Sherlock chuckled. “No, I’ve waited too long for the spoils of war, and I’m not about to sell them off for a pittance. I need to wear you out first.”

 

“Ruining my resale value, eh?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Heavy silence.

 

“Is that what’s going on here? Am I being used as leverage? I noticed your tone changed after he punched me. Quite unlike you.”

 

“Yes. You have, unfortunately, become a pawn in a game that started long ago, but, remember...”

 

“’Even a pawn can take a king’. Yeah, I know. That’s part of my value to you; everyone underestimates me. You said so yourself.”

 

Resting his head against the wall, Sherlock gusted out a breath and said, with conviction, “You are worth _far_ more to me than _that_ , John Watson. I _hope_ we will still have time, after this is over, for me to _prove_ that to you.”

 

Quietly, John replied, “I already know that, Sherlock. As long as you and I work together— _no secrets_ \-- we’ll get out of this.”

 

Pursing his lips, Sherlock nodded. _I hope so_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's situation only get worse...

The door opened and closed again a few hours later.

 

“Hello, my friends! And how are you feeling today?” Sergei sounded positively jovial.

 

“Hey, it’s the bell-end again!” John chirped from his position against the opposite wall.

 

Sergei turned to Sherlock and asked, “What did he say?”

 

“He’s calling me names again. Blames me for the fact he is here,” Sherlock lied with great facility. “We don’t always get along, as you can see.”

 

“Yes,” Sergei’s dark bulk nodded. “Such a pity. Such a man should appreciate the precariousness of his position more.”

 

“He’s dense, as I said. Prone to shooting off his mouth occasionally, but he knows nothing about M. That was before his time.” Mentally, Sherlock’s fingers were crossed. _Believe, believe, believe…_

 

“Mmmm. Perhaps, when this is all over, I’ll let him go, eh? Or maybe I’ll kill him _before_ I kill you!” he laughed. “Or maybe I’ll let you _both_ live and you can be known as traitors to your corrupt and decadent government!” He seemed to find this concept _terribly_ amusing.

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been maligned in public, Sergei. I still seem to survive.”

 

“Oh, do you, now?” Sergei loomed close. _God, that breath!_ “All the more reason for killing you, then, for all the problems you have caused me.”

 

“ _But_ ,” Sherlock added, in his blandest voice possible, “knowing _that_ would only ensure that I would _never_ tell you how to capture M. It is only the hope of survival that makes threats useful. Otherwise, you could torture me until I die and I would _not_ tell you _just to spite you_!” Sherlock spat these last words defiantly. _Keep his attention on me…_

 

“But threats and torture _would_ work if you cared about someone like, say, your _partner_ , right?”

 

_No, no, don’t go there, not John, get him away from John…_

 

“Ha!” Sherlock laughed in derision. “John would sell me out in a heartbeat. He stays because I pay him well and he loves to fight. Other than that, he is tedious. More your style than mine.” He turned his head away and sighed dramatically. “What I have to endure...you have no idea.”

 

Sergei walked to the center of the room and made a movement. A small click and a light went on, dim and flickering. Sherlock could see John chained to the opposite wall, dried blood trailing down his chin and staining his plaid shirt. They both blinked at the light, which _seemed_ a great deal brighter than it really was.

 

“Now we can be more honest with each other, eh?” their jailer mocked. “Look at you two; like two birds trussed up for dinner!”

 

Sherlock caught John’s eye. John nodded sharply. _You okay?_

 

Sherlock nodded back, curtly. _Okay_. Eyes toward Sergei and back. _Follow my lead._

 

John nodded again. His face was hard but there was a touch of a smile, as well. A very deadly-looking twist of the lips that had no humor in it.

 

“So, you want me to think that your partner is not also your friend, no? Well, I know better, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I know that you two are _very_ close. Maybe you two are, how do you say...” He held up one hand with his thumb and forefinger in a circle while the index finger of other hand penetrated it repeatedly. He laughed a very ugly laugh. “Yes, I did my homework about you.” He came closer, face looming in Sherlock’s vision. “How would your ‘friend’ react to you being...” He grinned broadly, his stained, yellow, irregular teeth on full display, one gold cap glinting dully in the light.

 

“I doubt he’d care,” Sherlock replied calmly, despite the sudden surge in heartbeat and adrenaline. “He’s not gay, you know. Says so himself. Has women all over him like _flies_.”

 

“Yesss,” the torturer hissed. “But he is still your friend, eh? How would he respond to…?” and he grabbed Sherlock by the hips and spun him to face the wall while pinning him there with his own pelvis. 

 

“Don’t react!” Sherlock cried out just before Sergei pulled out his engorged cock and began sliding it between Sherlock’s clothed butt cheeks. He pushed Sherlock’s own cock against the wall, the movement of Sergei’s rutting causing an unfortunate friction which began to produce results. Sherlock gritted his teeth and turned his mind inward, seeking solace in his Mind Palace as best he could. Filtering out Sergei’s primeval grunts, he began to mentally list all the elements of the periodic table and all their chemical characteristics. One part of his mind wondered what John was doing and hoping that he had on a better poker face on than usual.

 

With a final grunt and a flourish, Sergei ejaculated onto Sherlock’s bunched up silk shirt in the small of his back. Sherlock grimaced.  _When we get back, I’m_ _**burning** _ _this shirt_ . Sergei tucked himself back into his trousers with a satisfied little smirk. “I wonder what it would feel like to take you up the ass, pretty man” he said, menacingly. “Maybe you squeal like a girl, eh?” Then he grabbed Sherlock by the hips and turned him back into the room.

 

John’s face was astonishingly impassive but his eyes were dark as a stormy sea. “Enjoy yourself, you fucking piece of shit?” he asked, his voice calm. “Wait til it’s  _your_ turn.”

 

“What did he say?” Sergei asked, his face the very picture of smugness. “Is he willing to cooperate? Or should I include _him_ in the fun?” His eyes fell to the noticeable bulge in John’s trousers. 

 

“He said he wasn’t impressed, that you didn’t last very long,” Sherlock lied. He knew the possible consequences of his taunting, but he _had_ to keep Sergei focused on him and _only_ him. “ _He_ could do better with a woman.”

 

The darkening of Sergei’s face was a bad sign, but Sherlock had to keep up the game. “You know, raping me  _or_ him isn’t going to get you what you want, either. Maybe, if you send John back with a message from  _me_ , he can arrange for M to surrender himself or lead him into a trap.”

 

Sergei was quiet for a moment, then exploded with laughter. “You think I’m a fool, Sherlock? You want me to set him free? Where is the advantage for  _me_ ?” He kept laughing as he fondled Sherlock’s semi-erect member through his pants. Sherlock shuddered. “You  _liked_ that, didn’t you, pretty man? Maybe next time we do it all the way, eh?”

 

Sherlock silently glowered as the man ambled away with a jaunty step. When the door slammed again, John erupted. He struggled in his chains, growling like an angry bear, cursing a blue streak. “Fucking prick! I’m going rip his cock off and stuff it up his arse! Then I’ll shove his own bollocks down his throat, tear out his guts and  _throttle_ him with them!  _Bastard_ !” His face was flaming red, teeth bared. 

 

“John,” Sherlock said, quietly, over and over again until he calmed. Panting, he hung in his chains, shaking his head in impotent fury. “John, if he were to come back now, you’d be powerless against him.”

 

“I’m powerless against him _as is! That’s what’s so infuriating about it!_ ” John snarled, jerking at his chains. “How can it get any _worse_?”

 

“ _Never_ ask that question, John,” Sherlock joked, trying to inject some levity into the situation, without success. “It can _always_ get worse.”

 

“ _No jokes_ , Sherlock, _not now_ ,” John said, shooting Sherlock a rebuking look from under his brows. “He almost… He... _ **GOD**_!”

 

“John, the _less_ you react, the better. Even if he decides to...”

 

“ _ **NO**_!” John barked. “No fucking way! I’ll...”

 

“JOHN!” Sherlock barked back. “STOP! Look at the room! While the light’s on, look at the room!”

 

John took a deep breath and looked around. “Yeah, it’s a standard issue basement. With a corpse in the corner. Nice. So?”

 

“The room is narrow but long. _We_ are on the short axis. How far could you stretch toward me?”

 

John tried various permutations. “Close, but not quite, Sherlock.”

 

“True, but you _could_ possibly use some of your army training to get your legs around his neck and take him down. He also seems to have a problem with his teeth, probably very painful. Try to kick him in the mouth.”

 

John nodded. “I  _could_ do that, but I’d have to bide my time until he’s in position and off guard.”

 

Sherlock nodded back, mind racing like a greyhound on a hamster wheel. “Yes, and, for  _that_ reason, if Sergei decides to...” he swallowed, hard, “ _violate_ me in  _any_ way, you are to  _keep your cool_ and look for an opening, no pun intended. He’ll be at his most vulnerable immediately  _afterwards_ , so  _that_ will be your chance...”

 

“And then I’ll fucking _kill_ him,” John growled.

 

With a fond smile, Sherlock added, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

 

>>>***<<<

 

Hours—or was it days?--went by in the darkened basement, with Sergei coming and going at will. Each time, he brought a phone and a proposition; call M and arrange a meeting, or receive some “incentive”. Sherlock archly refused each time, for which he received a punch to the gut or face. When asked again, he would refuse  _again_ , at which time  _John_ would receive a similar treatment. 

 

“I will starve you both until you cooperate!” their jailer yelled down the hall as he left, accidentally leaving on the light in his exasperation.

 

John laughed maniacally. “No way. We’ll both die of dehydration _long_ before then. Some torturer!” He continued to laugh as if demented.

 

Sherlock said nothing, his mind a constant whirl of options, escape plans, and snappy one-liners. He was beginning to worry about John’s sanity.  _He_ was  _used_ to torture, having a way to escape the physical pain by withdrawing into his Mind Palace, but John was not so  lucky . He was strong, brave, loyal, dependable, but he also had PTSD and was predisposed to mental illness due to his previous alcohol addiction. It would drive him  _mad_ to watch Sherlock being raped and to be helpless to intervene. It might  _break_ him, which was  _exactly_ what it was  _supposed_ to do.

 

He had been hearing skittering around the outside of the basement for some time now. It bothered him that he had not seen any rats or other vermin around.  _Atypical_ . An abandoned basement  _always_ had vermin of  _some_ sort. The corpse  _alone_ should be attracting them. Not even a fly. Again,  _atypical_ . 

 

He had found out that t he corpse  had been a homeless person that Sergei had found squatting in the building in which they were incarcerated. He had simply  _dispatched_ him and discarded his shell in the corner under some burlap bags.  _Poor bastard. Hope that wasn’t one of the network...Sergei needs to answer for that._

 

Sherlock’s mind went into overdrive, contemplating various scenarios and their probable outcomes. The  _best_ way to escape would be to break or open their bonds, which was  _extremely_ unlikely, as Sherlock couldn’t reach his lockpicks  in this position . Even if he  _could_ , he was beginning to lose feeling in his hands from the tightness of the cuffs over his head. All other scenarios involved outwitting Sergei; however, he had  _obviously_ done  _some_ homework on his prey and any attempt to gaslight him would be fraught with peril. It might cause him to turn his wrath on John who, of the  _two_ of them, was the more susceptible to losing control of himself. Sherlock knew  _he_ could handle torture and, perhaps, even  _rape_ , but  _John_ … This led to yet  _another_ concern.

 

“John. I need to ask you...understand, this is a... _difficult_ thing for me to ask, but, if Sergei... _raped_ me, would it _matter_ to...?”

 

The look on John’s face was priceless. “Would it  _matter_ , Sherlock?  _OF COURSE, IT WOULD FUCKING MATTER_ !”

 

Sherlock’s heart dropped. His eyes closed in pain as he felt a giant hand crushing his heart.  _Oh, God...he’ll hate me, think me damaged, turn away from me in disgust…_

 

“Sherlock,” John’s voice came to his ears, shaky but softly. “Of _course_ , it would matter. We’re _together_ now, more so than we’ve _ever_ been before. You’re _mine_ , Sherlock, _mine_ to protect, _mine_ to  look after. To have someone _abuse_ you like that... _God_ , you don’t _deserve_ that, Sherlock. You deserve _so much_ _better;_ you deserve love and respect and caring. To hear you talk about being... _defiled,_ in such a calm, bloodless manner, like it’s just something you’ll have to do to get on with the game...That _infuriates_ me, that you could think it is _in any way_ okay as a strategy, just to keep me safe...to give me an advantage...”

 

Sherlock could feel tears slipping unbidden through his closed lids. He turned his face aside in a vain attempt to hide them.

 

“Yeah, I _know_ you, Sherlock. I know how your mind works. If you allow him...hell, _encourage_ him, to rape you, he’ll become more careless afterwards and I’ll have a chance to take him out. That...is one of the _**fucking**_ _**lousiest**_ plans I have _ever_ heard you come up with. You will _not_ sacrifice yourself like that. You will _not_ allow him to force himself upon you sexually for a meager attempt at escape, _**do you hear me**_ **?** ” The last was spoken so urgently that it forced Sherlock to nod, causing more tears to escape the prison of his lashes. “Look, Sherlock...” John continued, his voice full of emotion, “I _love_ you, you incredible _prat_. And to answer your question, no, it _won’t_ matter to _us_. All it will mean is that I’ll have to love you and take care of you _even more_ , so you _know_ that it doesn’t affect how I feel about you,  okay?”

 

Opening his eyes would result in a veritable flood of tears, so Sherlock kept them closed. He was…  _touched,_ in a way he had never been before. To hear those words from John’s lips, that he  _loved_ him and  _valued_ him as more than merely a friend and sex partner…

 

Of course, John had said “I love you”  _before_ , but it had usually been after sex, as they lay together in the afterglow. John was still somewhat reserved about  _voicing_ his feelings, even as he would tenderly run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair or pat him on the bum in passing. No, this was  _different_ ; this was an affirmation of a bond that Sherlock had longed for but was unsure that he deserved. It formed a lump in his throat that couldn’t be swallowed and a swelling of his heart that couldn’t be contained. All he could manage at that moment was a “Thank you” in the tiniest voice possible, so different from his normally powerful baritone. 

 

“Don’t thank me, you idiot. Just concentrate on getting us out of here _without_ resorting to extreme measures, ‘kay?” John growled affectionately. Sherlock nodded and retreated to his Mind Palace to consider this new input.  


>>>***<<<

 

Things were getting unpleasant. John and Sherlock were only unlocked, one at a time, to allow them to toilet themselves in a pail in the corner, which only increased the repugnant smell in the room. Combine _that_ with the lack of food and water, and things were beginning to spin out of control, more so than before.

 

Time was no longer an issue. They were unable to count days or hours, as both their watches had been confiscated when they were captured.  _Typical trick—disorientation helps to break down the mental barriers. Almost anything can be endured if there is a frame of reference, an end point. Without time awareness, torture lasts forever._

 

Sergei would return, from time to time, sometimes turning on the light, sometimes not, all to keep them disoriented. He would offer the phone, which Sherlock would refuse, with predictable results. John seemed to get the bulk of the ‘encouragement’ when the lights were on, while Sherlock got them when the lights were off.

 

“You are making your friend suffer for your stubbornness,” Sergei growled.

 

John looked up, one eye blackened and his nose newly broken. “Tell him to go fuck himself.”

 

“He says he will go to M himself and deliver your message, if you wish,” Sherlock translated.

 

Sergei grinned cruelly. “Ah, no, then my work is in vain. He will come back with reinforcements, yes? Set you free? No, I think I keep him here as influence over _you_. Eventually, you will do what I ask.” He then turned off the light and sauntered out of the room.

 

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock said, into the darkness. 

 

“What for _this_ time?” the Sass asked, his voice tight with pain.

 

“For involving you in all this. I thought this was long behind me...”

 

“Save it. You couldn’t have foreseen this.”

 

“John, if I don’t get out of this...”

 

“What, you want me to _remarry_ or something? Don’t be an idiot. I’d rather be _here,_ with _you_ , than alone contemplating suicide or married to a woman who’d kill my best friend just to cover her ass.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“ _Stop_ that. I _know_ that sigh. It’s another ‘I feel so guilty about putting you in danger because I’m shite and don’t deserve you.’ _Really_ , Sherlock, we’re going to have to work on that whole ‘self-esteem’ issue when we get out of here.”

 

“ _If_ we get out of here...”

 

“ _Again_ with the pessimism! What is _wrong_ with you today? Use that big brain of yours, the one I fell in love with! You got out before...”

 

“And it took me _days_ to get that key, as my back bears out.”

 

“What about your lockpick set?”

 

“I tried to palm it, but my hands were so numb, I dropped it and Sergei grabbed it. So much for _that_.”

 

“Where was _I_ for all this?”

 

“Dozing. You needed your sleep.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

A sigh. “Indeed.”

 

A pause, then, “You didn’t tell him what I said, did you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?” Not angry, but peeved.

 

“He would have hurt you again.”

 

“So what? If he breaks a rib, it’ll balance out the other one I already have.”

 

“John...”

 

“What?”

 

Softly. “Please,  _stop_ . You’re... _hurting_ me,” Sherlock  reluctantly  admitted, his voice strained.

 

A pause, then, “Sorry, Sherlock. Trying to keep up my own spirits, I guess.”

 

Quietly, “I know. Strange, I can endure all sorts of physical punishment with a certain degree of aplomb, but  _this_ ...”

 

“Yeah, it’s what he _wants,_ for _y_ _ou_ to feel _so much guilt_ because of me that you’ll do what he wants.”

 

“Maybe I _should_. Give him what he wants...”

 

“ _Sherlock_!”

 

“Not like that, you idiot. Send a _code_ of some sort.”

 

A snort of derision. “To _him_? You think he’d come?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Silence. “Yeah, so do I. We don’t need him walking into a trap, though...”

 

“Of course not.”

 

A door opened again and a burly figure entered, only  _this_ time no light went on. Sherlock knew it was his turn and mentally prepared himself.

 

“Ah, Sherlock! Have you reconsidered my offer yet?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock said, defiantly, “No, and I  _won’t_ , either. M would  _kill_ me if I betrayed him. There is  _nothing_ you can do that would make me surrender him.”

 

“Nothing, eh?” The laugh that followed was chilling. “I think I know what will make you cooperate. Maybe you don’t care about your _friend_ , but I’m willing to bet there is _something_ that you do care about. Something I never got to try before...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hits the fan...

He turned on the light, unexpectedly. Sherlock set his jaw. He _knew_ what was coming. Sergei had decided, not _only_ to up the ante, but to add humiliation into the mix by having John see _everything_. Sergei turned to grin at John before facing Sherlock. Moving closer, he began to rub himself against the front of Sherlock’s body, making obscene moaning and grunting sounds. His pelvis thrust into Sherlock’s groin as Sherlock felt his jailer’s erection growing.

 

Sherlock looked over Sergei’s shoulder. The look on John’s face was one of mindless, impotent _fury_. Sherlock shook his head and mouthed, “No!” but John wasn’t having any of it. He twisted in his bonds until his hands were scraped and bloody, teeth gritted in concentration.

 

Sergei finally pulled away and pulled Sherlock’s trouser fasteners loose before grabbing him by the hips and swinging him around again. Facing the wall, Sherlock could feel his trousers and pants being pulled down below his arse just before a massive rod of hot flesh began thrusting between his thighs from behind, the head pushing into his bollocks. The grunts intensified.

 

“You _like_ this, pretty man?’ he said in Sherlock’s ear. “Maybe your friend liked this, too, with you, or are you virgin? _That_ would be _so_ nice, I would open you up like a flower, feel you bleed the first time, maybe? Shall we see?” He pulled back and, after spreading Sherlock’s butt cheeks, lined up the head of his cock for the first thrust. Sherlock closed his eyes, preparing himself for the sudden jolt of intimate pain he was about to receive. _Think about John, maybe it won’t be so bad. John, John, John..._

 

With a scream of pure, unadulterated rage, John jumped on Sergei’s back, punching him in the kidneys even as he held on with an arm around Sergei’s neck. His hands were bloody claws, but John fought like a cougar, pulling Sergei backwards off of Sherlock, who took a moment to register this sudden change in his fortunes.

 

“John, no!” Sherlock yelled, _knowing_ it was futile.

 

John was _beyond_ reason. He used every trick he knew as a soldier to subdue his foe, but, in the end, he was too beaten, too physically compromised, to overcome a man fresh from rest and nourishment. Sergei threw him over and straddled him on his knees, one hand around his throat. “I will _kill_ you, little man,” he snarled as his hand tightened. John struggled, but his movements were becoming less and less effective and his eyes started to roll up…

 

“Stop! _Stop_ it, Sergei!” Sherlock yelled, having been able to twist himself around front again. “I will do what you say, just _stop_!”

 

Sergei paused for a moment, glaring down at John, before he released his neck and backhanded his face. “ _Pig_. Nice try, though.” Still kneeling over his fallen opponent, he turned to face Sherlock,. “So, now you cooperate, eh?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “Give me the phone. I will call M on his secret line and arrange for him to come here for a meeting. _Then_ you can take him.” He was breathing hard, trying to compose himself after the double assault.

 

“Good,” Sergei grunted. “And for _that_ , I let you keep your womanish ‘honor’ intact. But if you _deceive_ me, I will take you _and_ your friend before I _kill_ you.”

 

He half-lifted John to his feet, then threw him against the wall and refastened the cuffs again, tighter this time. John’s head lolled. “Good fighter. If he had been stronger, he would have posed a problem.” Sergei said as he rumpled John’s graying hair _almost_ affectionately. Then he turned and looked Sherlock up and down, smiling. “I’ll leave you like this as a reminder of what I can do to you whenever I want. Cooperate, and I will consider letting you and your friend leave without further damage.” He strolled confidently out of the room, leaving the light on.

 

As soon as the door slammed shut, Sherlock called out, urgently, “John! _John_!”

 

In response to the call, John stirred, raising his head blearily. “Fuck. Well, _that_ didn’t work.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes—indeed, his whole head—and said, “For _God’s sake_ , John! I said _after_ he had...”

 

“WELL, EXCUSE ME FOR NOT LETTING HIM FUCK YOU, YOU PRAT!” John yelled back, spitting blood. “Maybe _next_ time I should act like a cheering squad, eh? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

 

“HE ALMOST _KILLED_ YOU!”

 

“HE ALMOST _RAPED_ YOU! I’M SUPPOSED TO STAND HERE AND DO NOTHING?”

 

A pause. “Yes. He would have been more vulnerable afterwards. As it _was_ , he had adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone racing through his system...” Sherlock reasoned.

 

John threw his head back, accidentally hitting the wall. “Ow! My God, _listen_ to you! All brain, no… It wouldn’t have mattered to you if you were...”

 

“Of _course_ , it would matter, but it is something that my body would have _overcome_...”

 

“And your self-esteem? Isn’t _that_ far enough down the crapper as it is?” John challenged.

 

Sherlock lowered his eyes and said, quietly, “Better me than you.”

 

_That_ took all the wind out of John’s indignation. “Sherlock, stop being so damned self-sacrificing. Stop taking all the pain, all the grief...just _**stop** _ . I’m a big boy, I can handle myself. I worry more about _you,_ what _you’re_ doing to _yourself_ , over and over again. Remember when you said I was hurting you?” Sherlock nodded. “Well, don’t you think it hurts _me_ to see you pounded into the ground time and time again and you do _nothing_ because you’re protecting _me_ _?_ You just _take_ it and keep going, but don’t try to tell me that you don’t _feel_ it, deep down inside you, all those wounds, all those scars...they pile up, don’t they? Eat at you, take a toll?”

 

Compressing his lips, Sherlock nodded.

 

“Fine, then _stop_ taking all the wounds of the world on yourself. _I’m_ here, and I’ll do _whatever_ _I can_ to make sure you don’t have to suffer anymore, not like you’ve suffered for so much of your life. I...I _love_ you. I don’t say it enough, I know, but I _do_. Every time you hurt yourself or _allow_ yourself to be hurt, it hurts me _anyway_ , so you may as well stop doing it, you stupid git. Hear me?”

 

Blinking back tears, Sherlock nodded again.

 

“Say it. Say that you hear what I’m telling you.”

 

His mouth opened by no words emerged for a couple of seconds. “I...I hear you.”

 

“Now tell me you _believe_ me.”

 

A snort. “Of _course_ , I do, John. You’re a _lousy_ liar.” _God, isn’t that the truth._

 

A pained chuckle escaped John’s lips. “Good. Well, I guess the only up side to this whole thing, if there _is_ one, is that the view in here has just improved _tremendously_.”

 

Sherlock looked down, having forgotten about his state of _dishabile_ , before saying, “John, sometimes you can be _incredibly_ inappropriate.”

 

Another chuckle. “Look who’s talking. I learned at the foot of the Master.”

 

Sherlock quirked a smile before saying, “I think I need to figure out how I’m going to communicate my message to Mycroft...”

 

>>>***<<<

 

“Meet my friend, Georgie,” Sergei said, indicating a smaller man who had walked in behind him. “He is interpreter, he will make sure you don’t say anything you will regret.” He grinned as he held the phone up to show Sherlock it was time. “The number, please.”

 

Closing his eyes, he mentally checked his Mind Palace phone book for _that_ number. The untraceable one. The one where _n_ _o one_ could find out to whom it led, no matter _how_ hard they tried. The one that rang up a certain phone…

 

The phone at the other end rang. And rang. And rang.

 

With every ring, Sherlock’s heart sank just a little more. _Pick up, Mycroft, pick up, for God’s sake…_

 

It rang. Again. And again…

 

Sergei’s face said it all. “You lied to me. You said you could get this M to come here. I told you what would happen if you lied to me...” He turned to his friend. “Get out. I have business here.”

 

The smaller man nodded and left without a word. The phone kept ringing, without response.

 

“Now, Sherlock, it is time I make another example, eh? You first. Then, we try again. If it doesn’t work, then your friend.” He grinned in perverse anticipation.

 

“That is the only number I know,” Sherlock lied. That had been the emergency, ‘I’m in deep shit’ number he had never used before. _Good thing, I guess. Nobody there to answer. Thanks a lot, Big Brother._

 

“Sherlock, what…?” John started, but Sherlock’s tight expression told him all he needed to know.

 

Sergei thumbed the phone off and slipped it into his back pocket, then unfastened his pants. He was large, even when flaccid, but not as large as John, who was _unusually_ gifted in that area. Once again, he swung Sherlock around to face the wall, his pants still moored below his bum. Sergei’s rapidly-growing member began sliding between Sherlock’s taut cheeks, becoming more and more of a weapon with each stroke. Then, with practiced ease, he pressed the head against Sherlock’s entrance and pushed, hard. _God, the_ _ **pressure**_ …as his sphincter began to yield. Pressed hard against the wall, Sherlock could only hope his jailer would come quickly and be _done_ with it. He clenched his teeth in preparation for the ramming assault...

 

John was silent. _That_ worried him more than _anything_ . In his mind’s eye, he could see his friend; teeth gritted, hands in fists, shaking in anger. _I can bear it, John. Don’t do anything foolish, he’ll kill you without a thought. Once he’s done, we’ll try again..._

 

The door burst open and a cadre of men boiled into the room. Sergei yelled in surprise as strong hands pulled him away from Sherlock none-too-gently. He let loose a stream of epithets that truly impressed Sherlock as he felt solicitous hands removing his cuffs and re-clothing his lower body.

 

“About bloody time,” he heard John say, even though he couldn’t see him through all the men in the room.

 

Sherlock sagged against the wall in relief before someone threw an orange blanket over his shoulders. _Another bloody s_ _hock blanket_ . _This_ time, though, he welcomed it, as it represented warmth and safety. He felt his knees give out just before a pair of well-suited arms caught him and helped him to a sitting position on the dirt floor. His vision swam but he recognized the solicitous voice that accompanied the arms.

 

“We’ve got you, Sherlock. Never fear, little brother, I will _always_ find you.”

 

The world went to black.

 

>>>***<<<

 

“How did you find us?” was the first question on John’s lips before the paramedic applied salve to the split areas.

 

“ _I_ didn’t,” Mycroft admitted. “I _knew_ you two were missing almost _immediately_ , but I didn’t know _where_ you were _.”_

 

“No GPS?”

 

“Stone basement, poor reception. Played _havoc_ with tracing equipment. Actually,” Mycroft stated, “you can thank your homeless network, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock looked up from his seat in surprise. “Really? And how did _that_ come about?”

 

“Seems that one of their friends had disappeared inexplicably, a kind of a ‘regular’ who stayed in an abandoned stone house nearby. They went there to check up on him but were unable to gain access due to a new lock on the door. This _concerned_ them, so they scouted the house and saw a strange man coming and going. Sometimes he had blood on his shirt. They went to tell _you_ , but Mrs Hudson said you were missing, so they had her contact _me_. They really are a rather impressive group,” he added, thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should enlist some of them...”

 

“Don’t even try, Mycroft,” Sherlock growled darkly as another paramedic tended to the new cigarette burns on his shoulders.

 

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of it, brother dear,” Mycroft smiled, evidently pleased at having gotten a rise out of Sherlock.

 

“So, what about Sergei?” John chimed in. His left hand reflexively clenched.

 

“Oh, we’ll be taking care of _him_ , Doctor,” Mycroft responded with a smug smile. “And, may I add, I was rather _impressed_ at the blow you struck him as soon as my men freed you from the wall. Sorry for stopping you, but I though you were going to _kill_ him, and we _need_ him for informational purposes.”

 

“I’d been saving _that_ one up, Mycroft. Right in the jaw, just like Sherlock told me to, just a little later than I had intended. I notice _you_ got in a good shot, too,” John said, approvingly.

 

“Where was _I_ for all this?” Sherlock demanded.

 

“Unconscious. You needed the sleep,” John jibed, good-naturedly.

 

“Ye-e-s. Well, _no one_ assaults _my_ baby brother and gets away with it, not while _I’m_ on the job,” Mycroft sniffed.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I am _not_ a _ba_ _by,_ Mycroft,” he growled.

 

“Brother mine, as long as you and I are still alive, you will _always_ be my baby brother. _Do_ get used to it, won’t you?” Mycroft shot back, but there was affection in his voice.

 

Sherlock seriously considered retching.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is the past, but what does the future hold for John and Sherlock?

John and Sherlock lay together on Sherlock’s king-sized bed, naked, in dim light from the window. They had just eaten, bathed, and flopped on the nearest horizontal surface that was soft, to soothe their aching bodies. John lay on “his” side of the bed, head on pillow, stretched out, while Sherlock lay perpendicular to him, head on John’s stomach, occasionally bestowing small kisses on the new cuts and bruises on John’s body while avoiding the elastic bandage around his lower ribs. Neither one had made a move toward having sex, being content to simply lie together and rest.

 

“So  _that_ was Sergei,” John observed, absently. “The guy from Serbia. What a charmer.”

 

“Mmm hm,” Sherlock agreed, kissing John’s stomach on a compound bruise over a floating rib. John winced, but said nothing. 

 

“Not what I visualized as being a torture scenario,” John admitted. “Is that what it was like for you, back then?”

 

Sherlock laid his head down, nuzzling John’s flesh with the side of his newly-shaved face. “Something like that. A lot more damp, a few more chains and whips, a battalion of rats, but  _basically_ the same thing.”

 

John rested his hand on Sherlock’s freshly-shampooed hair and threaded his fingers through it. Sherlock’s eyes closed in pleasure and he smiled.

 

“Sorry, love,” John murmured.

 

“Mmm, for what?”

 

“I guess I’ve seen too many spy movies. I didn’t think it would be that...that...”

 

Sherlock chuckled. “Ugly? Degrading? Malodorous? All that and  _more_ , John. He just didn’t threaten  _rape_ the last time, but I  _knew_ it was always a possibility.” He could feel John’s eyes upon him and looked up. “What?”

 

A hand caressed his cheek while a thumb skimmed over his bottom lip, still swollen from where he had bitten it. “No one should  _ever_ touch you like  _that_ again. And, as long as I’m alive, no one else ever  _will_ .”

 

“You can’t control the future, John,” Sherlock whispered. “At some point, you may even have to watch me  _die_ ...”

 

The thumb was gently placed over Sherlock’s lips to stop them from moving. “No. Don’t say that, Sherlock. Where _you_ _go_ , I _will_ _follow_. _That’s_ how it’s going to be, and there’s nothing you can say or do to change that.”

 

Those full lips quirked. “Sentiment.”

 

“You bet your arse, sentiment.”

 

Sherlock carefully slid his battered body up John’s until they were face to face. He smiled down at him and said, “I think I  _like_ sentiment. Perhaps we should explore this concept further,” as he leaned down for a kiss.

 

John lay still, allowing Sherlock to graze his lips against John’s own. There was always a sort of  _electric_ feeling whenever they touched, but without the ‘shocking’ part. As though a connection was being made between them that could not be shorted out by  _anything_ other than death. John’s lips responded slowly, reveling in the plush warmth of Sherlock’s mouth. Even with their respective wounds, both wanted  _more_ . The pressure of the kiss deepened, mouths opened to receive each other’s breath and tongues. Each violated and, in turn, was violated by the other with those passionate organs. Breathing became panting, panting became gasping as they responded to each other on the most basic physical level possible.

 

Before long, however, John reluctantly broke the kiss, looking up inquiringly at his lover. “Sherlock...”

 

Silver eyes smiled down at him. “Yes, John?” he asked, the tiniest smile on his lips.

 

“Are you up to...I mean, do you feel that you can…?” He ran a hand down Sherlock’s taut flank and squeezed a plump buttock.

 

Sherlock’s smile deepened. “Of  _course_ , John. Being with you... _energizes_ me in a way that nothing else does.” He ducked down for a quick kiss.

 

“No! I mean, uh, after what you-know-who tried to do to you...do you still want to…?”

 

Sherlock was surprised. “Apples and oranges, John! This is... _different_ , in _every_ _way_ _imaginable_. I _know_ I am safe with you, that you will respect my limits and my wishes.” Their lips met again. 

 

“Well,” John admitted, his eyes lowering self-consciously, “I don’t want you to experience any sort of ‘flashbacks’ or traumatic memories because of...” His eyes flicked back up and, in his eyes, his full message was clear.

 

Sherlock felt  _such_ a rush of emotion for this small, caring man at that moment. To know that John  _valued_ his sensibilities to  _such_ a degree...”What is it that you want from me, John?” He asked, one hand stroking John’s short, graying hair.

 

“I had been thinking of...I...” he stammered, before continuing, rapidly, “It’s not important, Sherlock. Nothing that can’t wait.” He withdrew the hand on Sherlock’s bum, settling it, self-consciously, on the small of Sherlock’s back instead. He looked up. “God, you’re beautiful. Those eyes, they’ve always mesmerized me.”

 

“A tactic of distraction,” Sherlock chuckled. “ _Really_ , John.”

 

John, unaccountably,  _blushed_ . Sherlock laughed. “Well, John, if you’re  _not_ going to be forthcoming with me, then I shall have to pursue my  _own_ direction.” He dipped his head to the hollow of John’s throat, tonguing and kissing and biting all the tender areas before starting his journey south. He  _always_ enjoyed hearing the change in John’s breathing, the little hitches when he found an especially sensitive spot, which he would invariably catalogue for future use. 

 

Down, down he slid, carefully avoiding any obvious wounds. Kisses to John’s chest as he nuzzled into his meager chest hair, sliding sideways to nip and lave a flat nipple, which rose to attention easily and with great joy. A little moan, a small thrust upward, as if saying, “more, more”. Sherlock happily obliged, his own nipples hardening in second-hand pleasure. A small, competent hand on the back of his head, pressing his mouth down. He sucked and was rewarded with a groan as John writhed under him. Sherlock thrust against the bedding, his cock hardening as he felt his partner respond to his ministration.  _Giving pleasure and receiving pleasure; in the right situation, they are equivalents_ . He moved to the other side and received a similar set of encouragements.  _God, I love this man…_

 

Moving down John’s body, he taunted his lover with licks and swirls of his agile tongue as he slid ever southward, administering love bites as he skimmed down a still-flat belly, following the hair line through the navel. He explored the small inset, eliciting a shiver. More nips and bites led him to the top of a still-golden thatch surrounding an impressive edifice. Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat or two when he beheld John’s erection, thick and long and well-veined. The ruddy color was so unlike his own pallid member and he could  _feel_ the heat radiating off of it. He yearned to take in into his mouth, to suck it deep into himself, but first…

 

He shimmied down farther until found John’s bollocks, firm and already drawing upward. A quick lick to one sent another chill up the man as Sherlock gently mouthed, then sucked in, one of John’s balls while bobbling the other one in a long-fingered hand. One long finger reached behind and pressed up into the flesh just between the sac and John’s entrance.

 

“Ohhh, God, Sherlock,  _God_ ...keep going...” John moaned as he reached down to push his lover’s head inward with one hand and fondled his own cock with the other. “Suck me, baby, please...”

 

“Mmm hmm,” Sherlock assented with a full mouth. He gave the ovoid another flourish before sliding it out of his mouth and moving upward to lap a long, wet path from base to tip of John’s erection. John’s hips jerked upward as he moaned “Ohhh, fuck...” 

 

Sherlock rutted against the sheets as he took John’s crown into his mouth, working his mobile lips and tongue over and around the sensitive skin. John’s hands clenched in his hair, something that Sherlock  _loved_ and that spurred him on to greater feats of erotomancy. After preparing himself, he slid John’s cock fully into his mouth until he could feel it push against the back of his throat, then sucked. The resultant reaction was  _more_ than gratifying. John’s pelvis rose off the bed and shook with the intensity of it. His cry was so loud, Sherlock figured the neighbors were probably dialing Mrs. Hudson in anger at that very moment.  _Bugger them. My John_ _**deserves** _ _this._

 

When Sherlock drew back to breathe, John pulled his mouth off of his cock while panting, “Shit, shit, fuck, that was  _too_ good. Almost lost it there. You have to learn  _pacing_ , love.”

 

Feeling slightly confused and affronted, Sherlock rested his chin on John’s pubic bone, right next to John’s impressive cock. He affected his most innocent face and asked, “What would you have me do for you, John? I’m all yours.  _Command_ me.”

 

John looked down his body as he levered up on his elbows and was overwhelmed at the sight of a Sherlock’s beautiful, sex-tinted face with it’s cheek touching his erection, which Sherlock was running three fingers up and down absently. “God, I was wrong. You’re not just beautiful, you’re fucking  _magnificent_ !”

 

Swollen cupid-bow lips curved in a flirtatious smile as long-lashed eyes squinted in pleasure. Sherlock  _loved_ John’s compliments. They weren’t always the most  _intricate_ , but they certainly  _were_ from the heart...or, sometimes, several centimeters lower down. His fingers kept moving. Up and down, up and down.

 

“ _Stop_ that. I want to say something and you’re making it hard for me to think,” John groused. 

 

Sherlock blinked up at him guilelessly. “I’m  _supposed_ to make it hard, and you’re not  _supposed_ to think during sex, John! You’re supposed to  _do_ !” He lifted his head and popped John’s bell-end into his mouth like a lollie, his eyes never leaving John’s. He slid the portly shaft into and out of his mouth, never  _quite_ going below half-way, until John, his hand still gripping Sherlock’s hair, pushed his head all the way down, causing Sherlock to gag at the unexpected presence of John’s cock in the back of his throat. He pulled up rapidly and coughed. “ _That_ was uncalled-for,” he gasped.

 

“Now,  _behave_ ,” John reprimanded him saucily. “I  _asked_ you to stop. You are  _deliberately_ trying to fry my brain when I’m trying to  _discuss_ something with you!”

 

Sherlock stuck out his tongue, crossed his eyes, and pinched his throat, making a comical “Ack!” face, which made John laugh. “I  _could_ have done without the attempted asphyxiation, though!”

 

“Shush, you. We need to talk about something  _important_ ...”

 

Eye roll. “ _Now_ ?” 

 

“ _You_ started it,  _not_ me...anyway, remember, back in the basement, when I talked about you being so self-sacrificing and all?”

 

Long-suffering “ye-e-es..?”

 

“Well, this is exactly my point, here. You want sex, you start doing things for  _me_ ...”

 

“Exactly as it should be...”

 

“No,  _you_ start doing for  _me_ and  _don’t let me reciprocate.”_

 

“A-a-nd this is, somehow a problem?” Dark brows drawing together with a deep furrow between them.  _Huh?_

 

John threw his head backward in frustration. “For God’s sake, Sherlock,  _yes_ , it’s a problem. You say ‘ _command_ me’ and I say ‘tell me what  _you_ want’ and you just go ahead and...and... _ignore_ what I’m trying to  _say_ , here!” he complained. 

 

Dark head cocked to one side.

 

“What do  _you_ want, Sherlock? What can I do for, or to,  _you_ ?” John blurted out.

 

Revelation, then confusion again _. Oh!_ _Wait, what?_

 

In a soft voice, Sherlock said, “John, you’re  _doing_ it, every single day. You’re  _there_ for me, you  _accept_ me, you...you actually  _love_ me, for some indeterminable reason, without asking me to  _change_ . You need do  _nothing else_ for me.  _That, alone,_ is sufficient.” He settled his chin back down alongside John’s still-miraculously-firm erection. 

 

John’s shoulders slumped as the realization hit him. “My God, if I had said  _nothing_ to you, you would have continued giving me blowjobs and pulling yourself off ‘til the end of time, wouldn’t you?”

 

Bright silver eyes gazed up frankly into John’s blue ones. “Of  _course_ , John. I enjoy it, and you  _deserve_ to be taken care of to the best of my abil--”

 

The expression on John’s face stopped Sherlock in mid-word.  _Incredulity. Why? My logic is impeccable..._

 

“No, no,  _no_ , Sherlock,” John admonished him, shaking his head slowly. “Having sex... _making love_ ...is about  _sharing_ , not one doing for the other all the time.” He slipped a hand under Sherlock’s chin and held it, oh-so-gently, his thumb stroking Sherlock’s cheek. “What. Do.  _You_ . Want, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock blinked several times.  _Processing. Processing_ . “You.”

 

“God. Damn.” In disbelief.

 

“Not good?”

 

“ _Very_ good, but there’s  _more_ to me than what we’re doing, love. I want to give  _you_ pleasure like you give to  _me_ .”

 

Blink blink. “Oh.” Blink. “Not necessary...”

 

“ _Fucking_ necessary. I want more of  _you_ than your mouth and hands, Sherlock.”

 

“Admirable, but the effort on your part is un...”

 

“BUGGER THE EFFORT, I WANT TO FUCK YOU!” he yelled in frustration, before slapping his hand over his mouth, his eyes huge in horror at what he had just blurted out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their escape, John and Sherlock must come to a new understanding of their relationship and deal with the repercussions of their ordeal.

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up like a jet-powered lift. He blinked, repeatedly, as he assimilated this new data.

 

John’s partial erection wilted _immediately_ , as if trying to hide itself in shame. John himself didn’t move, muscles locked in place as he stared down at Sherlock, not knowing how to proceed.

 

“John, is there something _wrong,_ somehow? A miscalculation on my part, perhaps…?” He rose up on his elbows and rested a slender, inquiring hand on John’s chest. “Why are you…?”

 

John finally moved, his eyes looking away in guilt. He dropped his hand on top of Sherlock’s and patted it self-consciously. “No, Sherlock, this is nothing _you’ve_ done. _I_ fucked up, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

 

“For what? For saying you want to penetrate me?”

 

John’s head rolled back. “God, don’t sound so _bloodless_ about it! I just said that I wanted to...”

 

“Penetrate me with your cock; yes, I heard you the first time. Why is this so traumatic for you? After all, _I’m_ the one who was almost raped...” Sherlock retorted reasonably.

 

“AND THAT’S PRECISELY THE POINT!” John yelled. “I just said that I want to do to you what _Sergei_ nearly did to you! And you’re not...not…!”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock sighed, his eloquent silver eyes seeking the ceiling. “Apples and oranges, John. _I_ can see the difference, even if _you_ can’t. What _you_ want to do is within the bounds of a caring, mutually-supportive relationship. What _Sergei_ tried to do was an exercise in power and humiliation. _Vastly_ different, John.”

 

John looked away, his mouth a hard line of self-recrimination. “I _still_ feel like a bastard, wanting to...”

 

Pursing his lips in thought, Sherlock tried again. “John, if it’s of any comfort to you, when Sergei attempted to rape me, I...thought of _you_ . I _concentrated_ on _you_.”

 

John totally deflated. “Yeah, great. Feel _much_ better now, thanks.”

 

Sherlock lifted his hand and slapped John lightly on the belly. “Shut it. What I’m _trying_ to say is that, during his attack, I was occupying a safe space in my mind with _you_ and...”

 

“ _Not_ how it works, Sherlock. You would have ended up associating me with a _rapist_ , after that. Mentally with me, physically with _him_...”

 

Massive eye roll. “NO! I would have been occupying a special, protected room in my Mind Palace, one _not_ associated with trauma and degradation and torture. One associated with love and support and... ” He stared intently at John, trying to impress the concept upon him. “We all cope with pain in our own way, John. This is _mine_ . _You_ are my safety. _You_ are are the one who protects me with your love and support.”

 

John thought for a moment. “So, being with _me_ in your mind would have taken you to a safer place? One where Sergei couldn’t hurt you mentally or emotionally?” he summed up.

 

“Correct.”

 

“But, what about the physical injuries…?”

 

“The body heals from trauma with time. You’re a doctor; you understand this. A rape versus being stabbed by a knife...both are forcible intrusions into the corporeal self, and the corporeal self heals from both in the same way. C _ontext_ , John; _context_ is in the _mind_ , and memories are rewritable. In my _mind_ , I was safe, and loved. In my _memories_ , I would have been with _you_ when I was injured in some non-specific way. The assault _itself_ would have been locked away in another room, deemed unnecessary for everyday use.”

 

John smirked. “Like the solar system?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, peeved. “ _**T** _ _**hat** _ again? _Yes_ , John, like the solar system. Unnecessary data, to be filed or discarded.” He looked down , uncertainly, before continuing. “My _major_ fear was that you would be repulsed by me in real life, consider me damaged...”

 

John shook his head vigorously. “Uh _uh_ , Sherlock, _no way_. Wouldn’t happen.”

 

A gentle smile adorned his lips as his eyes rose to meet John’s. “I know, John. You told me so, remember?”

 

John smiled awkwardly down at him. “I really _do_ love you, you know. No matter what.”

 

“I’ve _sort_ of figured that out, what with you saying you want me to enjoy sex more and all,” Sherlock joked. “Even though I already _do_.”

 

John sighed. _“_ Okay, so you _already_ enjoy sex, but the question still stands; what can I do to _you_ ?” A dark eyebrow rose speculatively . “ _For_ you. _Whatever!_ ”

 

Sherlock chuckled to himself. John was always _so_ excitable. “Well, if you want me to be _totally honest_ with you...”

 

“I do.”

 

“Save those words for later, John, you may have need of them. If you want my _honest_ answer, then I would say that I would want you to...fuck me.” He pinned John with the intensity of his eyes.

 

“Fuck you.” Huge slate blue eyes widened in disbelief.

 

Sigh. “It’s _simple_ , John. I want you to _fuck_ me. Up the arse. With feeling. Would _that_ be acceptable to you?”

 

John stared. Sherlock could almost see the cogs in his brain moving through the unshuttered windows of his eyes. Disconnections being reconciled, traumatic memories and compassion battling heartfelt wishes...so many permutations going on behind those blue irises.

 

In the softest voice he could manage, Sherlock murmured, “John? Are you still in there?” while poking him gently in a non-bruised area of his chest.

 

John finally stirred. “Yes. That would be more than... _ **waitaminute!**_ _ **D**_ _ **idn’t we just talk about**_ _._..”

 

“APPLES AND ORANGES, JOHN! Why do _so many_ of our conversations have to take place AT VOLUME? I _told_ you before...” Sigh. Reset. “John, it _didn’t_ happen, what _did_ happen is stored away in my Mind Palace under lock and key, and I have _wanted_ you to fuck me for some time now but didn’t know how to _ask_ you for it without seeming _demanding_! NOW, DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME OR NOT?”

 

“YES!”

 

“FINE! THEN SHALL WE GET TO IT?”

 

“FINE! GET IN MY BLOODY LAP!”

 

“FINE!” A moment’s thought, then, “Do we need anything else first?”

 

John stared. “Oh, shit, that’s right. You’re...”

 

“Inexperienced but not stupid. So, what do we need?”

 

John painfully sat up and Sherlock helped him place some fluffy pillows behind his back. John jerked his head to the bedside table. “Lube in the drawer. The rest is my job.”

 

Sherlock nodded and rummaged the drawer for the unused tube, then gave John an inquiring look.

 

John shrugged. “Hey, I was hoping...”

 

A broad smile crept across Sherlock’s kissable lips. “So was I.” He straddled John’s knees.

 

“Uh, nope, higher...”

 

“Not an idiot. We seem to have lost something here...” His head dipped down while his bum stuck up in the air dramatically as he practiced his oral art upon John’s receptive member. Soon, he had John’s hands in his hair, tightening spasmodically with every lick and suck.

 

“Aw, fuck, baby, if you keep doing that I’m gonna lose it,” he moaned. “Get up here.”

 

Sherlock obliged. He straddled John’s hips, his own erection bobbing coquetishly in front of John’s chest. John eyed it keenly. “I don’t get to see it like this often. You usually finish yourself off before I...” he wrapped a hand around the slender staff and began to stroke it with long, sensuous movements.

 

Sherlock almost _melted_ on the spot. He grabbed the top of the headboard in a death grip. “Oh, God, John...” He thrust into each stroke, head bent down, eyes watching, as John caressed his bollocks with his other hand. “Fuck,” he whispered, reverently. John smiled in satisfaction as he brought Sherlock to full extension.

 

“Never had someone else handle it, love?”

 

A shake of the head. “Only me. God...what a difference!”

 

“Yeah, I know. When it’s being done by someone you love...God, it’s the best fucking feeling!”

 

Sherlock nodded wordlessly. _I know that, now, thanks to you, John._ He released the headboard with one hand and ran his fingers through John’s short, graying hair. “Now what?”

 

John beamed up at him. “Now _this,_ ” he whispered as his fingers wandered from Sherlock’s bollocks to the puckered violet skin of his anus and began lightly stroking and circling it. Sherlock inhaled sharply and tightened up without volition. _Shit!_

 

“No, love, take a deep breath and _relax_ . Nothing’s going to happen that doesn’t require your _complete_ cooperation and consent.”

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock murmured. “Just...” _Dammit, this isn’t what I wanted to have happen..._ _**fuck you** _ _, Sergei._

 

“Reflex. Yeah, it’s all right. If you don’t want to do this...” He pulled his fingers away slowly.

 

“No!” Sherlock grabbed his wrist as his eyes met John’s. “I...just need a moment, John. To adjust to the difference in...approach.”

 

John released Sherlock’s upright cock and pulled his lover’s head down for a deep kiss. “All up to you, love. I can wait.”

 

Eyes still closed from the kiss, Sherlock sighed and nodded, wondering _How can this man be so patient with me? He_ _**must** _ _know how nervous I am._ By feel alone, he tilted John’s not-unimpressive cock down so he could sit on it, the turgid staff lying between his bollocks and arse cheeks, allowing him to rock up and down on its entire, impressive length.

 

“Sherlock,” John whispered.

 

Sherlock’s silver eyes opened and he gazed down into his lover’s huge, blue-slate ones, which were brimming with emotion. He could feel John’s hands on his arse cheeks, lightly rubbing in circles with an occasional slow squeeze thrown in for good measure. He smiled down, feeling a bit more relaxed as John leaned in to kiss and nibble on his shoulder and neck.

 

“God, you’ve got the neck of a swan,” he murmured as he tongued along the long muscle on the side, a place that Sherlock was especially fond of. He could feel the suction of John’s lips, along with the little bites he bestowed upon the pallid flesh. Sherlock didn’t even care that he was leaving a mark; after all, he was John’s, and John could mark him as his own any time he wanted. Sherlock considered it a badge of honor.

 

“Sherlock, I think my cock is going to burst at the seams if it gets any bigger,” John half-joked. “Have a little mercy on a bloke, hmm?”

 

“What would you like,” Sherlock whispered in his lover’s ear, sending a shiver down his back. I _know what you want, John. I just want to hear you say it again. I want...hell, I_ _**need** _ _...to know that you want me like that. Because you_ _**love** _ _me…_

 

“I want...” He stopped, self-consciously.

 

“Go on,” Sherlock whispered, urgently. “ _Tell_ me.”

 

“If you want...”

 

Sherlock sighed. _This isn’t going right. Maybe I should just…_

 

He leaned in and asked, “Do you want to fuck me, John Watson?”

 

_God, I can almost_ _**hear** _ _the_ _gears_ _turning in his brain…he wants this so badly...but he’s afraid for me._

 

After taking a large gulp, John nodded.

 

“Say it.” Sherlock resettled himself on John’s cock and began rocking back and forth again, faster this time, and with more pressure. John’s color shot up as his mouth dropped open. Gently massaging hands on his bum became more insistent, grasping handfuls of plump flesh… “SAY IT.”

 

“I WANT TO FUCK YOU, YOU CRAZY BUGGER!” he finally howled.

 

Sherlock grinned and ceased his amorous torments. “Then _do_ something about it.”

 

“Sherlock...”

 

“You have my complete and total consent and cooperation. Does that help any?”

 

John took in a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll do it.”

 

Without further ado, John grabbed the tube and, as Sherlock straddled his hips, he slathered Sherlock’s entrance with its contents. It was cool at first, but John’s diligent attention to his anus soon had Sherlock completely distracted. One finger, two fingers, three...It was a good things Sherlock was already on his knees because they would have given out by now if he had been standing. _God, so good, so_ _ **good**_ _to feel him inside me, opening me up for him…_

 

Sherlock’s hips shot forward at the same time an involuntary cry escaped his lips as a jolt of pure pleasure shot up his body. He tightened around John’s fingers and heard him whisper, “Jesus God, you’re tight!” before he said, “Sorry, love. That was your prostate. I’ll be a bit more gentle next time.”

 

“Don’t bother,” Sherlock almost whimpered in response, causing John to chuckle. “That...was _fine_.”

 

“Well, I think I’ve got you opened up enough now, so...come here, you gorgeous beast,” John said as he set his hands on Sherlock’s hips and manipulated him into position over his cock. There was a bead of precum shining there already. “Just let me position myself here...Do you feel that?”

 

After a quick inhale of recognition, Sherlock nodded distractedly. “Yes. It’s...familiar.”

 

“Sherlock, look at me,” John commanded, firmly.

 

Sherlock complied.

 

“This is _my_ cock, love, _not_ his, _not_ anyone else’s, you hear me?” he murmured, earnestly. Sherlock nodded. “You say stop, we stop. You want to quit now, we quit now.”

 

The love on John’s face compelled Sherlock to cup his cheek in one hand and say, “No. I _want_ to do this with you. I _want_ to have you inside me, to touch a part of me that no one else can ever have.”

 

John face softened even more, if that were physically possible, and he smiled up at Sherlock. “Okay, love. Now, just sit back on it and take a deep breath to relax. Then bear down—it’ll open you up.”

 

Sherlock nodded and did as he was told. As he felt the crown of John’s cock breach his body, he bore down and was rewarded with the slick, conical head of John’s cock sliding effortlessly into his entrance. As soon as it was in, his ring of muscle snapped shut behind it, trapping it inside his body.

 

“Oh, holy fuck, babe,” John sighed, reverently. He grasped a handful of bum on either side, obviously resisting the urge to plunge deeper. “How’s that for you, love?” he growled.

 

For one of the few times in his life, Sherlock was speechless. Eyes closed, mouth open, he reveled in the sensation of having the man he adored inside of him. He wiggled his hips a bit to explore the sensation…

 

“Stop that or, I swear to God, I’ll come right now,” John gritted out.

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock whispered back.

 

“Don’t be fucking sorry, just _get on with it_ , will you?” he half-snarled. “You’re making me _crazy_!”

 

_Not difficult, that,_ Sherlock smirked internally. He began to sink slowly downward on the well-greased pole penetrating his arse. Vaguely, he could hear John groaning, as if in pain.

 

“You all right?” Sherlock inquired, solicitously, as he ceased his downward trajectory, limbs locked in position.

 

“Fine, I’ve just got a fucking tease for a partner,” John snapped.

 

Since he was halfway impaled already on John’s considerable length and girth, Sherlock made the decision to deal with his grumpy sex partner appropriately. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he bore down one more time and engulfed the entirety of John’s massive edifice. The sensation of it filling him utterly snapped his last, tenuous connection to rationality. He moaned loudly just as John swore creatively and banged the back of his head on the headboard by accident.

 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ on a stick, Sherlock_! WARN me the next time you’re going to do that!”

 

But Sherlock couldn’t hear him anymore. What little conscious mind he had left was busily cataloging all the various sensations associated with being fucked by a cherished lover with a huge dick. His grasp on the headboard over John’s head almost cracked the wood as he leaned back, trying to impale himself even farther. He could feel John’s head lean in and a warm, clever tongue teasing his nipples to the hardness of pencil erasers. He had never realized before that there was such a direct connection between his nipples and his cock, which decided it wanted to get in on the fun, too. It was bigger than it had _ever_ been before, resting its head on John’s belly. With one hand, he reached down and, cupping it, began to stroke himself off.

 

The feeling of having his arse filled by his lover’s cock, with all the myriad of nerve endings there, combined with his stroking himself off and having his nipples sucked and nipped, was _exquisite_ . It was pleasure _beyond_ pleasure, something he had never experienced before. And it only improved when a small hand joined his and followed his movements up and down his shaft. _Oh, God, oh, John, yes, yes, yes..._

 

The other small hand attempted to lift Sherlock out of his lap, without success, but the intention of it finally made its way through into Sherlock’s sex-sodden brain. He released his own cock to John’s attentive mercies and grasped the top of the headboard again, using it to help him raise and lower himself on his knees, pumping John’s erection into and out of himself, as fast and as deep as possible.

 

“Ohm yeah, fuck, baby, yeah, faster, faster, harder...oh god, I’m coming...”

 

_Indeed…_

 

Sherlock came first, probably because of his three-way personal bacchanale. Cock up his arse, hand pulling him off, mouth sucking his nipples...too much, too fast, too _good_...he spattered his cum all over John’s chest as he gasped and moaned and rediscovered his prostate with John’s cock over and over again. He felt as though his entire lower body was going to explode from the heat and pressure and sheer ecstasy of it all.

 

Once his cock had stopped pulsing, he felt John roll them both sideways, onto Sherlock’s back. There, John took over, pounding into Sherlock’s arse like a man demented, cursing and groaning. “Gonna fuck you, baby, fuck your arse, come deep inside you, fill you up til you can’t take any more...”

 

It didn’t take John long to fulfill his promises. With a groan of pain/pleasure he shot his load deep into his lover, his body jerking in time with his ejaculations. Sherlock’s legs were locked around John’s back, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, face buried in John’s neck as he rode his lover’s pleasure to the end.

 

With one last shiver, John collapsed. As his erection faded, Sherlock loosened his limbs and lay bonelessly beneath his lover. Panting, neither one addressed the other; they just lay together, basking in a hormonal bliss that would be gone all too soon.

 

Before long, Sherlock tested his arms and legs, then squirmed a little under John’s body.

 

“Mm mmm, should I move?” John mumbled, his face almost buried in the sheets. “’m I too heavy?”

 

Sherlock huffed a chuckle. “You? No. Light as a feather. Just checking I haven’t lost anything important when you took me apart.” He nuzzled his cheek into John’s shoulder. “How’re you doing?”

 

“Deaded,” came the reply. “Just box me up and put me in the closet. I’m done.”

 

Sherlock laughed. “Idiot.”

 

“You have the most fucking incredible arse...my God, what did I do to deserve you?” he murmured again, still unmoving.

 

“Everything,” Sherlock whispered, lacing his arms back around John’s shoulders. “And thank you.”

 

“Mmm?” Still largely incoherent.

 

“For making sure the past stayed in the past. Without you...”

 

John moved his head. “What, Mind Palace wasn’t enough?” he asked. “Thought you said...”

 

Sherlock kissed John’s ear and said, “An imprecise science. The only way to negate the past is to confront it and remove its power to harm you. You did that for me.”

 

John shrugged. “Huh. Well, good for me.”

 

Sherlock smiled. “No, good for _us_. VERY good for us. Don’t you agree?”

 

John levered himself up on his elbows and, looking down at Sherlock, asked, “Why do we always seem to end up doing things _your_ way?”

 

“Because I’m a genius,” Sherlock said, with mock-haughtiness.

 

John laughed. “A _fucking_ genius.”

 

“And, now, a _fuckable_ genius.”

 

“You’ve been sitting on that one, haven’t you?” John squinted at him.

 

A solemn nod. “For longer than you know, John.”


End file.
